Brother
by Silverlake Elf
Summary: When Faramir is riding across Pelennor to almost certain death, what could he be thinking about? BoromirFaramir


Author's note: Feedback is always much desired and welcomed. Please keep flames to yourself; they will be used to make myself lovely s'mores if you do send them. I was inspired to write this after seeing RotK for about the 13th time (no, I'm not exaggerating), and the look in Faramir's eyes as he's leaving Gondor and riding across Pelennor is just so desperate and sad that it lead me to wondering about what exactly he could be thinking about.  
  
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*You wish now that our places had been exchanged? That I had died and Boromir had lived?  
  
Yes. I wish that.  
  
Since you were robbed of Boromir, I will do what I can in his stead. If I should return, think better of me, father.  
  
That will depend on the manner of your return.*  
  
I miss him as much as you, father. No, I daresay I miss him more than you can ever begin to feel or even imagine. Have you any idea of how much it pained me to bring you word of my beloved brother's death; how much it pained me to give you the horn of Gondor cloven, bloodied? You were not there to see his body wash by, an empty shell being borne away on the Anduin. You lost a son that you adored and esteemed. I lost a brother, a friend, a confidant. When Boromir died, I lost my everything.  
  
Swimming in the summer when we were only boys. The air was hot and the water cold. He would take great pains to make sure no harm would come to me and make sure I was happy allthewhile trying to hide his good intentions behind teasing. He would tickle me, and toss me about wildly, but gently. I can still feel the warm sun on my skin as we lay out on the grass to dry.  
  
I only ever saw him cry once. I was but five years old when our mother died, and Boromir ten. I did not know why mother was so cold, or why people were throwing white flowers onto her. I did not know why my little brother was weeping as though his world had come to an end. I wept as well, though it was more for Boromir's sake.  
  
It was he that put into my hands a sword for the first time. It was with great reluctance, only by father's mandate. Both of us knew, my brother and me, that I was not a warrior. But still, I learned for him and for approval from our father. There were times I would cry, great sobs that shook my body from the hatred of the sound of flesh being severed, of a body being run through. And his gentle arms would be around me, his voice with its words of love and comfort would be in my ear, his warmth would surround me, and I would be content once again.  
  
There was the first time I had set out on my own, the first time I headed a company by myself. He bade me goodbye, worry fringing his voice and darkening his eyes. There was an embrace, almost crushing, as though he could somehow give me part of his bravery, his courage, *himself*, if he could just hold me close enough. Though he watched me depart from the citadel, I could still see his face clearly in my mind as I rode away.  
  
As we grew older, we found ourselves often away from our home, away from each other. The times we were together became fewer, but our bond never weakened. Without him, days were harsh and unfeeling. Without him, nights were cold and lonesome, empty, never ending. There was nothing to stay the chill that crept into my bed and straight through to my bones. I knew, even with only that small taste of his absence, that I would never be able to face a life without him.  
  
Homecoming was always a time for celebration, be it Boromir's or my own. Of course, there would be galas and balls, feasts and festivities for his return. Father would spare no expense in celebrating his triumphs; there would be a smile on the face of everyone in the city. Gondor's son was much loved.  
  
The second son's return would never be anything remarkable. I would come back to the city with my small company and report back to my father, take his criticisms, endure his lack of love; his words were always cold. There would be no feasts or music; simply a quiet acknowledgement from courtiers and servants. But to Boromir, my return was the brightest spot in his day; his warm smile was forever there, waiting for me.  
  
The heat of skin against skin in the dark of the night forever there, waiting for me.  
  
The last night we were together is still burned into my mind. His promises, his vow that he would come back to me safely. He had never lied to me before, what reason did I have not to believe him?  
  
But he did not return. And floating down the river along with him are the very fibers of my existence. What do I have to live for if he is not here? I have not our father's love; I have never been in his favor. I am nothing but a humble captain sent to head a band of ragtag rangers. And yet I will still fight for him, for Gondor. I will try to the very end to make him proud.  
  
*Where does my allegiance lie if not here?  
  
Your father loves you, Faramir. He will remember it before the end.*  
  
Where does my allegiance lie? With a father who wants no more to do with me than is absolutely necessary? In violence which turns my stomach every time I have to take part in it? No, it is with my brother, who I will never see again unless...  
  
*Yes. I wish that.*  
  
I wish for that as well, father. 


End file.
